


My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Misuse of songs of power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod has a strange fascination with Maglor, who is infuriated with himself that he cannot help but return it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark

_Macalaurë_

I feel the brush of his mind against mine before I turn to see him looking at me from across the palace courtyard. I am talking to Nelyo and Curvo at the time, (although later I will find that I cannot recall the conversation) and I turn resolutely back to my brothers, as if by turning away from the glance of those clear eyes I will keep myself hidden, as if I can close my mind to him.

Findaráto has always been competitive; you can see it in the way he walks with a slight, maddening swagger, the lilt of his bright, laughing voice, the way his eyes gleam when he spars with his brothers and with Findekáno in the practice yard. And his competitiveness, his need to explore, to  _know_ , does not end there. He quests for the edges of his mind in that way he is so adept at, as though simply out of curiosity. I have had a little wine and my head spins slightly, so my response is clumsy, and I push him back more roughly than I had intended. Of my brothers, many have said I have the most even temper, but I resent people attempting to breach my mind without consent, even with Findaráto’s careful affectation of playfulness.

I make a conscious effort to close him out, to build a wall around my thoughts until I can no longer feel the golden-warm brush of his mind on mine, and clamp my gaze determinedly on my brothers, trying to concentrate on their conversation again. I grit my teeth, and I bristle as I feel my face going red, betraying me.

“Macalaurë? Are you alright?” Nelyo is looking at me, concerned. I am about to answer when I see Curvo looking off behind me, one eyebrow raised. I turn, following his gaze, somehow knowing what I will see.

Sure enough, there stands Findaráto his hair dishevelled and cheeks flushed, as mine are, He looks as though he may be more drunk than I am, and his mouth is slightly open as if he is about to say something. But he does not. Instead he looks straight into my eyes, his lips curving into an arrogant smile that is both a challenge and an invitation.

I frown, preparing to push him out of my mind again, but I do not feel the pressure of his thoughts against mine as I expected. Disorientated by over-exerting my limited ability to maintain mental border defences, my mind spirals for a moment, and I know Findaráto senses it, for his smile curves a little more, maddening, frustratingly… beautiful? I purse my lips and look him in the eye. If he is going to try to get into my head, simply out of curiosity, then I may as well put on a show for him. For I have other skills.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I know that rising to his challenge, reacting to the teasing, is only allowing him to get his own way, giving him exactly what he wants. But suddenly I am filled with a desire to prove myself against my perfect golden paragon of a cousin, to best him. I open my mouth, concentrating on forming a long clear note. I suffuse my voice with power, in the way that I have been taught, have practiced until my throat was raw with it and my limbs weak and shaking. My head spins, but I try to concentrate on letting my wordless song fall from my mouth and twine around him, to hold him in place, frighten him for a moment before I release him, at least enough so that the smug smile falls from his lips. Enough to ruffle his pride, at least. I let my voice grow in volume, a falling octave escaping my lips, enjoying the feeling of the notes welling up in my chest, to be invested with power as I go.

I feel Findaráto start, see something like surprise (alarm?) in his clear eyes, and feel a savage stab of joy. But then he is smiling again, and opening his mouth, and his own song is starting His whole body, his whole  _fëa_ , is reaching out to meet my challenge and pushing back against me, tendrils of music meeting and entangling in the vibrating space between us as we tussle. I pause for a moment, take a breath, hoping he thinks I am giving in. He falls for the trick, too hard, and he is pushing back, his voice rising higher, triumphant, a slight smirk appearing on his lips as he sings. I smile internally, preparing to sing a bright, coiling melody, replete with power, to enmesh him in my melody and hold him to the spot until he begs for mercy, for I am tired of my young upstart of a cousin and his unruffled cockiness. But then, without warning, his tone changes, and there is steel in his voice, edging onto the gold, and I find the notes stopping in my throat as I meet unexpected resistance. I panic slightly, feeling a little light-headed, although if it is from the wine or Findaráto’s golden-bright onslaught of song, I cannot quite say. I even stumble a little.

That is the final straw. I draw myself up, steadying my stance, fortifying my mind. Imagining the melody I will sing, letting it well up hot and unquenchable in my chest. Then I let my voice ring out over the courtyard, all my attention directed at Findaráto, only dimly aware that everyone is staring at us.

Immediately his will snaps, and he stumbles back as I sing, the power in my voice crashing over him like waves tossing a boat on the sea. I feel that savage sense of satisfaction again, but more than that; I feel anger. He stopped, he gave in, but that only means that it was him who was in control, him all along. He is looking away from me now, and I wish, irrationally, that I could see his eyes, see the look in them for myself as he turns away.

I stop singing and my jaw sets, as I proudly tilt my head upwards, looking at him down the bridge of my nose. Too late, I realise that I am unconsciously mimicking Atar, and likely doing a poor impression at that.

I force myself to look into those eyes again, for Findaráto is still smiling serenely, despite the fact that I had beaten him in our little sparring match. I feel myself scowling, my cheeks hotter than they should be, although Findaráto’s face is pleasant, affable but unreadable. Infuriatingly beautiful.

I feel Nelyo reaching out to touch my arm, solicitous. I shrug him off, tearing my gaze away from Findaráto’s insistent stare, a stare which seems to cut through me, to pierce me… I turn away determinedly, fire burning in my throat, on my skin, my fingers and palms tingling although I know not why. Angrily, I turn away and stride away in the other direction, unsure myself of where I am going, more troubled by the incident that I can explain even to myself.

————

_Findaráto_

After a scant moment, he is turning to storm away across the palace courtyard, his dark hair and his deep red velvet cloak rippling strangely in the silver light. He has fascinated me, this cousin whose mind I have never explored, whose thoughts I have never yet sifted through like papers in a drawer.

I had wanted to see Macalaurë’s mind laid bare; I had not expected such passionate resistance. The fire I had glimpsed, the passion, the raging sea of thoughts and emotions and music had left me thirsty for more, obscenely so, gasping like a drowning man. I touched my lips from whence a moment before my own song had issued, meeting his voice as if I were fighting him with swords, my own power feeling frail under his crushing, raw passion, his attack crafted nevertheless with exquisite precision. I shake my head a little, marvelling at the sheer power in that voice, raw and undiluted.  _Commander indeed._  A shiver of…  _something_  runs through my whole body, silver-bright and illicit.  _Curiosity? Lust?_ The memory of his song twining around me, binding me to his will is clear at the forefront of my mind.

Suddenly I realise that a little crowd of onlookers has gathered, their faces matching pictures of shock. In any other circumstance, it would have been almost amusing.

I collect myself, summoning my most charming and self-assured smile, fixing it to my face like a mask. Politely, I excuse myself, striding off in the direction that Macalaurë went. People try to speak to me as I go, Macalaurë’s brothers… I shut them all out, looking up into the sky. I feel drunk, more drunk than I had been before, more drunk than Macalaurë had been when I had been inside his head. I am drunk on euphoria, although I suppose rightly I should be hanging my head in shame. But I care not for that, not today.

I had seen him making for the the cellars; I would hazard a guess that he is going down into the dark tunnels beneath the palace that lead to the intricate network of passages cut into the very rock of the hill of Túna. I run down a narrow spiral staircase behind the palace kitchens, taking the stair two at a time as the light of Telperion fades behind me and the air grows colder. It is quite down here, and my footsteps echo strangely in the darkness. But not too far in front of me I can hear another sound…  _yes_ … another set of footsteps, distorted by the echo but ringing clearly against the paved floor, hurrying. I frown, and then smile a little to myself. Just where does he think he is going…?

I put on a spurt of speed, trusting the builders who paved this passage long before I was born that I should not trip on a loose paving stone and miss my footing in the dark. It is exhilarating, I find, running through the stone, the passge bending gently to the right, sloping a little downhill. I stop, listening, and a shiver takes hold of me suddenly, for I can hear nothing now. The footsteps ahead have gone quiet and all is black around me. I listen to my heart pounding in my ears for a moment, before tiptoeing on forwards (or what I think is forward) into the blackness.

Then suddenly I am walking into something, or rather some _one_ ; I do not need light to know that it is him. He is holding me by the lapels, to steady my balance as I stumble. I can feel the brush of his mind, pushing insistently at the borders of my own this time. I smile to myself, pushing back a little, simply because I can.

I can hear his voice, a wordless growl of frustration, and draw back, stepping back a few paces. I raise my hand, through who knows what instinct, and I find that his fingers are coming up to meet the tips of mine. Our footsteps echo against the stone as we circle each other, my eyes trained on where I imagine he is, so close, although I cannot see his face. I can hear him though, his quiet breaths, even the rustle of his clothes, I am so close. I even imagine I can hear the beating of his heart. And still we move around each other, circling in the dark, our fingers touching, both listening to the darkness of each other’s presence with scant, quiet breaths half-held with anticipation for what must surely be to come.

"You knew I would follow" I state into the silence, when he says nothing.

All of a sudden I find myself being pushed against the wall, the cold stone coming up to meet my back, rough even through my clothes. One of my hands comes up to lace through his hair as he pins me there, the other scrabbles at the stone behind me. I cannot see his face although he is inches away, but I can imagine him looking at me, simply enjoying holding me against the wall, contemplating what may happen next.

The kiss, when it comes, nevertheless catches me off guard with its ferocity. The back of my head knocks against the stone as his lips collide with mine, our teeth catching skin between them so I taste blood in my mouth, although whether it is his blood or mine or both I cannot tell. I will feel the pain later I know, but for now all I feel is exhilaration. And I feel Macalaurë’s anger, his resentment at me trying to access his mind. Good. This was what I had intended all along, and he knows it. Our minds are open to each other now, and, seeing my thought, he growls a little into the kiss, his hand clasping my collar. The warmth grows around us in the previously clammy darkness, as our hands tear at clothes, fingers snagging awkwardly in each other’s hair.

No one will find us here, I know. I see a glimpse of the immediate future, involuntarily, and I whimper a little as I hear the way the dark cavern will echo with the sounds of our passion.

He smiles into the kiss, a smile that is almost gloating triumph. I know that Macalaurë too is seeing what I see in my head, or rather hearing the sounds of the coming moments. The dark and the rock will swallow those moments, the sounds, and us.

“And then” whispers Macalaurë, his quicksilver voice low and rough for once, “afterwards everything will be back to normal, and we can go on as if - ” his words, that steely voice of command, are lost in the kiss for a moment “ – as if nothing had ever happened, but we will know each other a little - ” he lets out a little cry as I bite his lip “ – a little better. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes”, I playfully put a hint of power into my voice, as he has been doing, letting the words curl around us and resound in the darkness as he pulls me close, his usually skilful hands tugging clumsily at my layers of clothing, scratching at my skin even as mine do the same to his. “Yes, that was what I wanted.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is borrowed from a song of the same name by Fall Out Boy.


End file.
